The Pale Exile

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2026-08-20 13:45:41 -

The Pale Exile

The train shuddered, a mechanical beast exhaling steam into the grey throat of the city. I held the strap. My knuckles were white. The glass outside was a smear of soot and rain, reflecting my own face back at me. It was not my face. It was a mask. A thin, porcelain thing, cracked down the middle. We were entering London. The year was 1924. The air tasted of coal smoke and wet iron. I had come...

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